


Should Be Givin' In

by APgeeksout



Category: NXT, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: D/s, F/F, Long-Distance, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5172170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sasha and Becky find ways to be together, even when they aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should Be Givin' In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kokiyas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokiyas/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, kokiyas! 
> 
> Set at some nebulous point in the early days of the "Divas' Revolution" angle.

“You alone?” Sasha demanded the moment the call connected. This wasn't the time for chit-chat and pleasantries; the Boss had business to get down to with this girl.

“All by my lonesome,” Becky confirmed, voice richer through the phone speaker than it had any right to be, settling warm under Sasha's skin. It really had been too long since she'd had time to spend on her, so much harder to find space for the two of them in Buffalo-Pittsburgh-Columbus-Birmingham-Dallas-Omaha-Seattle-LA than it had been in Orlando. She cleared her throat, making sure her voice would come out clear and steady, making the most of the time they did have.

“You been waiting for my call like I told you?”

“Yes, Boss.” There was a trace of something in Becky's voice that she couldn't quite place: not defiance or frustration or bitter amusement, the way this thing between them sometimes went when there was a belt or another beef between them in the ring – just a little wobble in the back of her throat.

“Show me.”

While she waited, she stretched out restlessly across the smooth, crisp sheets of the hotel bed. Team B.A.D. traveled in style, always. Her phone chimed, and she tapped at the screen to open the new pictures: Becky, skin like warm bronze against white sheets and emerald green silk. One shot of her body, muscles taut, curves accentuated by the bra and panties Sasha had picked out for her. Another of her face and chest, vibrant hair pushed back from her forehead by a pair of those goofy goggles. She'd had her roots touched-up since Sasha had seen her last; it looked good, but she still didn't like it.  She preferred to be there when Becky changed.  To watch it happen, or even better, to be the one who teased it out of her.

She brought the phone back to her ear. “Good girl,” she said, and listened for the shift in Becky's breathing that she knew would come with the praise. “I didn't tell you to wear those dumb goggles, but they're kind of cute. You can keep them.”

“Thank you.” Becky practically purred into the line, her gratitude settling heavy and hot in Sasha's gut.

“Don't make me regret it,” she warned.

“Never.”

Sasha laughed a little at that. “I'll remember you said that, and I won't let you forget it, either.”

“Hold me to it, Boss.” Oh, she would; hold her to her word, to the mattress of the next bed they shared, to the cool wall of the first empty room she could find the next time they were working the same arena.

“Don't think I won't. And _don't_ tell _me_ what to do,” she snapped, voice hot.

“Sorry,” Becky said, her contrition winding something tight at Sasha's core.

“You can make it up to me,” she said. “You still have the lotion I gave you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Put your phone on speaker, and put some on.”

“Okay.” Sasha heard the difference in Becky's voice over the speaker, and the rustle of fabric that was probably her retrieving the bottle from her bag and resettling with it on the bed.

“All over,” she instructed, “rub it in good, but only where you're not covered. Don't touch yourself anywhere else yet.”

The lotion was the one Sasha used herself – the same one she idly rubbed into her own skin as she listened to Becky shift and sigh on the other end of the connection – silky and sweet-smelling, a little luxury. A little reminder for them both of just whose girl Becky was, even when the only time they'd managed together was shared with seven other bodies in the ring.

“Where are your hands?”

“One on my thigh.” Becky breathed. “The other's on my throat.”

Sasha pictured that, imagined replacing Becky's hands with her own, and pressed fingers against the pulse point on her own neck.

“Good. And you haven't touched yourself anywhere else yet, right?”

“My arms. My stomach.”

She thought about the muscle there, lean and solid under soft skin and reached beneath the hem of her tank-top, skating a hand down her own abdomen, letting her fingers catch on the lace at the waist of her own underwear.

“Nowhere else?”

“No. Nowhere. Not since Baltimore.”

A spike of heat pulsed through Sasha at the memory: They'd taped Smackdown there two weeks before, Naomi and Charlotte booked in a match, everyone else banned from ringside. Sasha had found Becky alone backstage, wound a fist into her bright hair, and tugged her into an unlocked office. Becky on her knees, making Sasha's buckle with her tongue. When Sasha watched the P.C.B. post-match interview later, all she'd been able to see was how smudged Becky's makeup was. She still wondered if Tamina or Naomi had noticed that hers had been just as wrecked.

For the next week, a picture had arrived on her phone each morning, tracking the bruise Sasha had sucked onto the ridge of her hipbone. A mark that lingered even though Sasha couldn't.

“But you've wanted to,” she said.

“Yes, Boss,” Becky sighed, “so much.” Sasha liked it, sometimes, when Becky pushed back, when she had to coax the compliance out of her with firm words and sharp fingers. But this – Becky pliant to her instructions, eager for more ways to satisfy her– was good, too. Made her feel powerful and graceful and like she could shoot the sparks under her skin out as a bolt of lightning – a whole summer storm – if she decided to.

“So patient,” she said. “Such a good girl for me. You can take the bra off.”

“Thank you,” Becky said, voice breathier than before, and Sasha heard the faint rustle of her moving against the sheets again.

“You're about to feel even more grateful,” she said, smiling indulgently into the phone. “Touch your nipples. Soft at first, then harder. Like I would.”

Becky gasped once, softly, barely captured by the phone.

“If you want more, make sure I can hear how much you appreciate this.”

“I do, Boss. I do.” She moaned then, both louder, and Sasha suspected, with her mouth closer to the phone. However Becky'd gotten the effect, it was hitting Sasha in all the right ways, her own nipples gone hard and tight, pressed into the cotton of her tank-top. She allowed herself the indulgence of teasing over them through the material, her own breath speeding and catching more quickly than she'd planned.

“Make it hurt. As much as you need.”

Becky made a throaty noise, and Sasha tried again to picture her, twisting, pinching, using sparkly fingernails against her sensitive skin. She knew that whatever Becky was doing, she wouldn't be holding back – not now than she'd been given permission, anyway – and the thought touched off another deep throb of satisfaction. Her girl could take it as well as she dished it out, and she'd never been a slouch at dealing out sweet, steady pain.

She listened to Becky's breathing and raw noises of want, proud to be a cause of them, even if she couldn't be there to wring them out of her with her own two hands. A bead of sweat gathered at her neck and rolled down her chest, and Sasha gave up pretending, to herself anyway, that she had even half as much control over herself as Becky had surrendered to her. She sat up and shed her own tank-top, newly-bared skin prickling against the air-conditioning as she tossed it aside.

She fell back against the bed again, and let her fingers circle and twist at her own nipples, each touch of her own hand and every sound from Becky's lips tracing a fresh line of heat down her spine and straight to her cunt, growing steadily wetter beneath the clinging material of her panties.

“Send me another picture,” she said, pleased to find that her voice still sounded even and authoritative. The Boss, in charge of the conversation and Becky and herself. She shifted against the sheets, back arching a little, body impatient for friction. “Don't keep me waiting, either.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, Boss,” Becky lilted, just a little bit of sass coming in around the edges of her voice.

Sasha didn't have the chance to correct her before her alert for a new picture sounded, and after she tapped the screen to view it, she forgot whatever reprimand had been forming on the tip of her tongue. Becky looked into the camera, eyes heavy-lidded and hot, a pretty, pink flush accentuating her cheekbones, full lower lip caught between her teeth. Her hair scattered wildly over the pillow behind her, except for the few strands stuck to her temple with the light sweat Sasha could almost taste on her own lips no matter the distance. Fingernails painted a sparkling copper pressed sharp into the reddened skin around one firm nipple, a deeper blush spread across her chest, over the point of her collarbone – where, in person, Sasha would have marked her up with dark lipstick and grazing teeth – and up the curve of her neck.

“That's pretty,” she said. “You've been really good for me tonight.”

Becky hummed in agreement, a low, satisfied sound that settled warm into Sasha's skin.

“You been good for me the rest of the time, too?”

“Always.”

“You sure about that? Everyone can see how your little sorority sisters look at you.”

“They can look, but they can't touch,” Becky said in a singsong. If they'd been driving or killing time backstage or playing a different kind of game, Sasha would've laughed. Instead, she decided it was time to play dirty.

“Don't think I forgot what you told me,” she said, “about how you used to fool around with Paige when you were just dumb little girls. Bet you want to show her how good you learned to eat pussy.”

Becky gasped, soft, but loud enough to carry across the connection and right through Sasha like a jolt.

“You haven't let her get you off, have you?”

“No, Boss.”

“Good. What about Charlotte? Bet she'd let you sit on her face.”

It was an image they'd talked about more than a few times over the last year; Becky gave just the broken-off moan she'd hoped to pull out of her. The heat in her belly banked higher with the combination of the shared fantasy and the satisfaction of getting exactly the reaction she wanted from Becky.

“Woo!” she said with a sneer she knew Becky would hear even though she couldn't see it. “You haven't 'done it with Flair' yet?”

A breathless “Never.”

“Good girl. Tell me why not.”

“Because I'm yours. For as long as you want me.”

“Mine.” For a moment, there was only the sound of the two of them breathing, fast and together. Sasha gave her own nipple a vicious pinch, the quick burst of pain sparking under her skin and bringing her focus back sharp. “You get wet just for me?” she continued.

That moan again, making it that much harder to not to break character, to stop her own fingers from moving in more than an idle stroke over lacy material. “Show me.”

She let her hips rock into her own touch, just once, before she reined herself back in.

The phone chimed again, and a new picture filled her screen: delicate fingers pushing aside a scrap of darkened green silk to reveal a neat strip of hair, Becky's own natural color, rich against her flushed, glistening skin. Her own cunt throbbed at the sight, a pulse of want chasing straight up her spine.

“You're awful quiet, Boss,” Becky said with a knowing lilt.

That wouldn't do. “Take them off,” she said shortly.

“Yes, Boss,” followed by the rustle of sheets on skin.

She ached, imagining what that would look like if they were in the same room, how it would be to watch from arms' length as Becky followed the rest of her instructions, or to correct her if she didn't. “Since you can't keep from talking back on your own, put them in your mouth. And send me another picture.”

Even muffled by the fabric, the noise Becky made carried through the speaker and straight to Sasha's cunt. While she waited for the picture to arrive, she slipped out of her own underwear and dropped them carelessly aside. The room's cool air on her hot skin was enough to send another ripple of pleasure through her all by itself.

The picture, when it opened, was responsible for another hard shudder: Becky, pupils wide and dark, lips bitten red and slick with spit already welling from the corner of her mouth, where one fold of green silk peeked out.

“You can touch yourself now. Any way you want. Just make sure I can hear how much you like doing what I say.”

The sound Becky made in answer to that probably started out as another “Yes, Boss” before getting smothered in the makeshift gag, but after a moment, it morphed into a deep, guttural groan. Something that didn't have words and didn't need them to light Sasha's body up, even from the other end of the call, the other end of the Eastern seaboard.

“Sure you're alone all night?” she asked, filling her voice with the same taunt the Boss used in the ring. “No one's going to hear you moaning for me and come to check on you?”

Becky made another muffled sound, deep and helpless and filthy. She was close, and remembering how Becky was in those moments – eyelids fluttering, the tight muscles of her stomach tightening and quivering, salty sweat collecting at the crook of her neck and the soft hollow between her collarbones, strong hands twisting into the sheets or, if she allowed it, pressing warm and eager into Sasha's own skin – Sasha let her fingers wander over her hip and down to dip into her own wetness. She took a slow, shuddering breath to steady her voice before she pressed on.

“What would your little team think,” she said, more ragged around the edges than she'd intended, but steady enough still to push Becky just where they both wanted her to be, “if they busted in and found you this way: spread open and soaking the bed just from listening to me tell you what to do?”

Just as Sasha'd known it would be, the thought of being caught – of her neediness and supplication being exposed to their shocked or curious or maybe even disapproving or _disgoosted_ , eyes right along with her bucking hips and slick fingers – was enough to push Becky over the edge. The whimpering she poured into the phone came at an exaggerated volume that Sasha recognized as a gift from her girl across all the miles between them.

Her own fingers slipped inside her and back out to brush over her swollen clit, the way she would have directed Becky's hand on her if she'd been there with her. She shuddered, the coil of heat in her belly striking a fast stream of sparks into her blood.

“I'll wager they'd take it about as well as your girls would,” Becky said, voice low and rich and clear. She'd emptied her mouth without waiting for instructions; Sasha would have to collect punishment from her the next time she had her in hand, but for the moment, she found it hard to mind, her fingers pressing and catching at sensitive skin while Becky elaborated. “Finding you with a phone full of dirty pictures. Worked right up into a state.  All from bossing me around.”

It took her by surprise, the way her girl's words and the pad of her own thumb dragged her into her own release, the tension at her core pulsing tight a few times before unfurling up her spine and through her limbs, leaving her warm and loose, trembling on the sheets and panting into the phone.

She breathed quietly with Becky for a little while, linked by the phone and the warm buzz of fading adrenaline. Eventually, she let herself laugh softly, more just plain Sasha than the Boss.

“I'd say we should invite them to play some time,” she said, “but I like having you all to myself too much.”

“I like it, too,” Becky said drowsily. “I miss you.”

Sasha's heart caught at that, full up with the same feeling, but instead of answering directly, she asked “You in a good hotel?”

“Good enough. Be better if you were here.”

“Every place is,” Sasha agreed. “Go run yourself a bath, and tell me about your week.” She rose and padded toward her own bathtub, thinking how they might order something sweet from room service together later, while Becky's excitement and satisfaction at having countered Alicia Fox right into her Disarm-her in front of a hot crowd poured into her.


End file.
